#//very implied but y'know

[everchased]

i confess i am very curious... what is finch like as a lover

depends on who's holding the leash

[veinsfullofstars]

“I. Am going. To kill that rat.” “What was that, Boss?” “I said, BACK TO YOUR POSTS NOW!” “Y-Y-Yes, sir, right away, sir!”

(ID: Kirby series fanart comic, Kintsugi AU, four borderless panels featuring Dark Meta Knight, Mirror Axe Knight, and Mirror Mace Knight, in which the latter two comment on their leader’s interesting new battle scars, much to his restrained dismay. Transcript below the cut. END ID.)

Good thing his minions aren’t the brightest bulbs in the bunch - otherwise they’d’ve found out about all the friendly hugs he’s been getting in his off-time.

(… this isn’t too much, is it? Stars, I hope not. I tried to keep it vague enough that it doesn’t have to mean anything spicy. Maybe it was just a very competitive game of tag. Or maybe DMK couldn’t quite reach an itch between his wings and Daroach got a bit overenthusiastic trying to help. Basically anything that could ruin his “big scary cool toughguy” reputation. As long as DMK is too embarrassed to admit to it in front of his crew, they’re all viable options, haha.)

Started 12/25/23, finished 12/28/23, updated 01/04/24. NOTE: This was originally posted on my deleted account on 01/04/24.

—

Transcript:

Panel 1

*DMK walking forward towards our left, M!Axe and M!Mace passing by in the opposite direction, M!Axe waves cheerily to DMK, who glances at them over his shoulder*

M!Axe: Oh, Boss, there you are! Hey, how was the fight? Didja win?

DMK: Hm? What’re you talking about?

Panel 2

*reverse shot of DMK, still glancing over his shoulder, several pink scratch lines can be seen on his back and the base of his wings, each in sets of three*

M!Mace: Got some new scratches on your back, Boss. Nasty ones, too, by the look of it.

M!Axe: (laughing, impressed) Ha! Musta been one heck of a scrap to leave marks like that! I’d hate to see what happened to the other guy, haha!

Panel 3

*front shot of DMK, his eyes shrunk to dots in realization, as a thought bubble hovers over his head - a simple headshot of Daroach, grinning roguishly beneath the shadow of his hat, showing off his claws as they glint sharply*

Panel 4

*front shot of DMK, sweating and glaring fixedly off to the side, eyes still shrunk, a vivid blush inside his visor, while M!Axe and M!Mace stand where they were before behind him, heads tilted in innocent confusion*

DMK: (strained) … … … Yes. … … A fight. … That’s what happened.

[dedicatedfollower467]

it's always weird to remember that i am probably the only person ON THE PLANET who pictures yue qingyuan looking the way i picture him in my head.

i don't know WHY i somehow latched onto the idea that he was southeast asian and had dark skin, but it must have latched on before i finished the first book because the illustrations didn't dislodge it and yqy is permanently dark-skinned in my head now.

this is particularly weird because the REST of my headcanons line up with the fanart? it's just yqy who's weird for me?

[synonymroll648]

y’know how gisela makes keefe get clothes tailored to him in book 2 (or maybe book 3), and how his clothes fit approximately before that but never just right? and how keefe canonically has stolen at least one bramble jersey from fitz? i would like to offer the explanation that after keefe wore fitz’s bramble jersey(s), he was like. “alright! i will now make my entire wardrobe full of clothes that are fitz’s size for these completely heterosexual reasons:

1. it makes it easier to disguise the clothes that i have stolen from fitz versus the rest of my clothes

2. it always makes it feel like i’m wearing fitz’s clothes

3. it makes it easier to ‘accidentally’ leave my clothes in places where fitz mistakes them as his, and i see him in my clothes :)”

[wander-over-the-words]

do you think, maybe when he gets a bit more comfortable of the idea of pursuing a relationship with our resident giant diving suit... would mister sinclair would wax poetic to delta in his mother tongue? hes a very chatty fellow, after all, surely he would have at least a spanish pet name or two to spare?

INHALES

No.

In my personal headcanon, there’re two occasions where Sinclair ever speaks Spanish at length. One of those is when he’s pissed off. like. he could kill a man just by looking at them kind of pissed off. And that’s because he’s taking advantage of the fact that they (most likely) can’t understand what he’s saying so he can insult them as he pleases (though, his dislike of cursing beyond ‘hell’ and ‘damn’ still stands even in Spanish cause he was raised to be a gentleman, so he’s mostly just calling the person an idiot and whatnot). Even then, it’s not really to their face, he’s doing it more just under his breath.

He’ll be packing his papers into his briefcase after a meeting with Ryan that didn’t go his way like “*grumble grumble grumble in Spanish*” “Until next time, Sinclair.” “YEAH GOOD GREAT BYE ANDY *grumble grumble grumble in Spanish*”

The other occasion that would have him speaking Spanish at length is if he’s addressing his late mother and/or grandfather. like if they’re ever on his mind or if he went and visited their graves.

He’d probably speak Spanish to someone he’s working with if they’re better at that than English, and I do enjoy the thought of him teaching Eleanor Spanish at her request (and Delta would absolutely sit in on some of those lessons, and not just so Sinclair can gesture at him like “This here is…?” and Eleanor can be all “Mi padre.” “AAAAnd…?” “Tu novio.” “AAAAnd…?” “Un hombre muy grande.” “Good job, honey.” “*proud Big Daddy noises*”)

Mostly, Sinclair has left his mother tongue behind him. He won’t allow himself to get rusty in it (if one were to look on his bookshelf, one might find a couple of books in Spanish) for the sake of his culture (if he ever forgot his Spanish, his grandfather would dig himself out of his grave and clip that boy around the ear), but it’s only on rare occasions that he uses it. He hasn’t spoken Spanish as his go-to language since he was a teenager. He’s not ashamed of people knowing English isn’t his first language - maybe when he was younger, but nowadays, he doesn’t give a shit - they just ain’t gonna hear him speaking anything else unless they piss him off. 

If someone played the “oh you know Spanish?? Can you say something in Spanish??” :D card, he’d smile extra wide, look them in the eye and say “No.” because he’s okay with translating something if someone needs it, but he very adamantly doesn’t perform his mother tongue for people

Funnily enough, the only times Spanish would pop up in their relationship would be because of Delta, not Sinclair

Delta would be fuckin PUMPED to learn Sinclair is bilingual. Like obviously he knows Sinclair’s from Panama cause he mentioned it, but it didn’t occur to him that that would mean Sinclair’s native tongue isn’t English. He’d hear Sinclair go on one of his Spanish rants (not at Delta he’d never do it to Delta nrnrgn just. someone bothered him idk) and just be like :0!!! :D!!!! cause like yeah sucks that Augustus is distressed but hot damn listen to that Spanish!! Just when he thought Augustus couldn’t get cooler, he learns he’s bilingual! How fucking cool is that! Augustus is just so cool! So clever! LOOK HOW COOL HIS BOYFRIEND IS

He’d do his big ol’ AWED BIG DADDY CROONING (“Don’t be cute right now, chief, I’m havin’ a crisis.”). Probably sit there like “psst…Augustus…speak more Spanish” :3c

If anything, Delta would want to learn Spanish so he could wax poetic to Sinclair in it (after being removed from his suit of course), which Sinclair would genuinely appreciate cause like?? damn chief you learned a language just so you could tell a dude who speaks that language how much you love him?? That’s cute as fuck he’s never had someone do that before

In the meantime, Delta would attempt waxing poetic by randomly asking Sinclair what something is in Spanish (and he'd get away with some of that because Delta usually gets away with shit that would bother Sinclair otherwise. Sinclair knows he means no offense). and it’s stupidly sweet stuff like. Walks up to him and points at his own chest and then at Eleanor’s Spanish textbook to communicate “what’s ‘my heart’ in Spanish??” 

“Mi corazón, chief. Why?” 

Then Delta just. puts his hand on him like “that’s you” 

“HA! Now, that was a smooth move. But as always - right back at ya, pumpkin~”

In canon, Sinclair says a total of one (1) Spanish word if you get him to, and that’s if you don’t take Simon Wales’s key straight after killing him; after Sinclair says his “I don’t have much air left” line, wait for a bit, and eventually Sinclair will call Delta up and say “You’re a…a tough hombre, chief. Get the key off him and - and use it to get into the Pump Control Room.” 

And that right there is the extent of Spanish he uses on a day where he isn’t angry, speaking to his beloved dead relatives, teaching Eleanor or answering Delta’s Spanish questions

[unusedcactus]

kinda thinking about the parallels between Durandal and SHODAN (because they do exist and I want these two hyperfixations to merge) but it's gotten me only to "Durandal is only formerly rampant because he killed Strauss, who was probably the only person he was actually mad at" and "SHODAN hates humans as a collective but Durandal waited 300 years opening doors because the guy he was mad at wasn't awake from cryostasis yet"

[marshmellowtea]

writing is so wack like i feel like the mood shifts in this story had to have some flow to them because literally how the fuck else did i get here, but also this character's feelings feel so different from the ones i was writing them having not even one hundred words ago so maybe it is clunky bad writing that'll make no fucking sense when i read it back

[kingdomoftyto]

First off, Turnabout Goodbyes was insane. Very good chapter. I see why people are obsessed with Edgeworth (and Wrightworth as a ship) now.

Secondly, I'm halfway through From the Ashes and,,, why does this read so much like Edgeworth and Gumshoe are/were dating

[nitewrighter]

Definitely the sexiest thing about Harvey Dent across Batman continuities is when, y'know shortly after losing half his face, he starts working his way through the Gotham underworld and you can very quickly tell that this isn't what you'd call a rampage. 'Rampage' implies he's acting pretty much purely on impulse, but no, he sits down with various mob goons, maybe goes apeshit on a few of them, does his coin flip, et cetera, but the whole time, you can tell, he has thought about this for years. He's figured out all the gang hierarchies, he knows all the hangouts, he knows exactly where the gaps in his knowledge are and whose ass he has to kick to fill them, and he's working his way through it like a grocery list. And it's clear that for years the law was the only thing holding him back from doing this and now it's not holding him back anymore. It's equal parts terrifying and satisfying and anyway that breach of the line of law and the childhood friend thing is absolutely why he's actually Batman's greatest Rogue. Because Batman has also thought like, way way, way too much about what he would do if he didn't have his code. Do you see the vision here???

[w0lfboikieron]

"High-Functioning"

A/N: This poem is about ableism and the struggles of being a presumed-neurodivergent-but-undiagnosed individual both in childhood and as an adult. This is my experience. This is about the language and behavior others exhibited toward me. It may also have happened to others, it is also probably not a universal experience and I would never claim that it is.

There are words I hate. There are words that remind me of what was lost, Time stolen from me because I was “smart”. Opportunities erased because I was “high-functioning”. Money I now might have to pay because I could hide my pain. My confusion was buried under layers of “don’t rock the boat”, My struggles were painted over with “you’re just bored”, And now I don’t belong. Too burned out to pretend anymore, Too scared to step into the community I relate to. I don’t like when people say I’m smart, Not because it’s not true, I know more than most, But because they ignore why I’m so smart. I was told I was smart. I was expected to be. I didn’t have a choice, Because I was too smart to be one of “them”. Too smart to need an IEP, Even though I lost more homework in a week than I finished in a month. Too smart to struggle, Even though I had silent lunch for months over reading logs I tried to do. Too smart to need a diagnosis, Even though I suffered without one. My mom liked to tell these “funny stories”, Like the time someone said I skipped a developmental step, Because I needed to be moved up to a higher reading level, And my school didn’t accommodate that until she threw a fit. But I wonder what my mom missed. Because maybe that can’t happen, Or maybe it can, But either way maybe that person saw something she didn’t. A need that wasn’t being met. Maybe they saw that I was struggling, I don’t know I wasn’t even 7, But sometimes I wonder what could have happened, What would have come of someone listening to that person.

[eaterofman]

Yandere Harem Coworkers x New Hire Reader

Now with a part 2 <3

Good news: You landed your dream job! Bad news: Your coworkers are fucking insane.

CW: Yanderes, workplace harassment, possessiveness, implied stalking, power dynamics, dubcon touching

You hadn't expected a job like this to come so easily.

It really had been a dream job from the moment you laid eyes on the job posting, and they'd even offered you better during the interview! They'd even thrown in an extra sign on bonus! You couldn't believe your luck. You were finally going places.

Really, how could you say no?

Your interviewer was the HR manager, Leon Jacobs. He was a stern looking man, clearly in his late 40's, and didn't seem to have a single flaw in his appearance. His age showed in the beginnings of grey hairs atop his tidy, shortcut black hair, and the creases beneath his eyes. His appearance was beyond intimidating. Dark, scowling eyes picked you apart from behind his glasses as you fidgeted in your chair. Whatever nightmare of an interview you thought was coming, never happened. Instead, you were surprised when he almost immediately offered you not only the job, but an even better salary and bonus than was advertised. You were almost too stunned to speak, as he held out his hand to shake, his dark expression lifting with the slightest twitch of his lips. You took his hand shakily in agreement. In your excitement, you didn't notice the way his hand gripped yours a hair too tight, or how his touch lingered for a few moments longer than it should have. The way his gaze intently followed your figure as you walked out was also missed by you.

"We're so happy to welcome you to the team. Our team will make sure your time working here is as pleasant as possible."

Your trainer is a well respected man, Warren Pen. Warren is a huge man, easily towering over you. While he'd be otherwise intimidating at his size, his warm expression and demeanor quickly puts you at ease. How could you be afraid of him, with his warm brown eyes and bouncy red curls and gentle smile? You quickly learned that he must have a pretty high position in the company. His office alone was almost as big as your entire apartment! The office they give you is nearly as big, much to your surprise. Warren reassures you that it's not a mistake, that they just want you to be comfortable in your new position. You are so very important to the company, after all. As he helps you settle in, you're amazed by his generosity and kindness. You're too happy to question why there's such a big office space right next to his open for you, or why such a high ranking worker would be assigned to train a newbie. You're initially confused about why all your other coworkers seem to cower away from him... until you see him lose it on a poor intern. His demeanor changed from a gentle giant to a raging monster within the blink of an eye, screaming at the intern over a simple filing mistake. You find yourself suddenly on your toes around him, waiting for a verbal barrage over one of your mishaps, but it never comes.

"Don't worry, I'd never treat you like that. They deserved it. You're doing perfect."

Your department's boss is a man named Jax Wright. Jax is a charming man, and the childhood best friend of Warren. He's slim and tall, with black hair and a slightly rugged appearance. He always seems to be in a rush, hair usually rustled and a 5 o'clock shadow a constant on his face. Yet, he somehow takes time out of his busy day to visit you. Or, more accurately, he finds the time to corner you when you're alone or with Warren. You don't want to lose this dream of a job, so you don't mention the way the childhood friends always find a way to crowd around you in the more narrow hallways or the breakroom. They insist you have lunch everyday with them, why would you want to eat by yourself? You really shouldn't deny your superiors' lunch requests, y'know. You ignore the lingering touches as he leans in far closer than necessary to examine your work, hands placed possessively on your shoulders. He loves to give you overwhelming praise, even for the most minor of accomplishments. You're afraid your other coworkers will think the worst of you because of the special treatment, but they seem to be avoiding you nearly as much as they avoid Warren.

"Good job. You're exceptional as always. It's been an absolute pleasure to work with you. Keep being good and you're bound for a raise."

With the rest of the department seeming to avoid you like the plague, you start to believe that you're stuck with just the overbearing childhood friends to talk to. That is until the secretary, Jake Moor, begins to talk to you. Jake is flamboyant, to say the least. He's bright, from his beaming white smile to his wide array of cute, colorful ties he matches with his suit. He's young, in his early 20s, and his bright blonde hair only adds to his youthful appearance. He's almost too much, talking at light speed and somehow being more touchy than your boss. He always finds a reason to pull you into hugs, or rustle your hair playfully. It doesn't bother you much though, he's just being friendly, right? And you really don't want to lose one of the few friends you have in the department. He has some sort of treat for you everyday, usually a homemade meal or pastry you have to find the time to eat alone before you're coworkers steal you away to have lunch with them. His cheerful nature motivates you to stay with the company, he really is your "beacon of light". You even find yourself giggling to yourself as he sends you silly motivational cat pictures throughout your day. He's so cute you don't even question how he got your number when you never gave it to him yourself. You do find it a bit odd that he knows exactly where to go when your car breaks down one day and he gives you a ride home, but you'd told him you lived in those apartments on the east side, remember? He'd never use his position to look at confidential paperwork. Never.

"I brought you in some cookies I baked last night, and here, I even made some dog treats! I've never made them before, let me know how he likes them! How did I know you have a dog? ...you told me, remember? Silly!"

As the weeks pass, you start to become more accustomed to your coworker's odd mannerisms. They still wear on you, but the money is just so good. You need it, where else would you even go? There's no chance you'd find anything near as good, if you found anything at all. You needed this job, Jax and Warren's overbearing natures aside. At least you had Jake, who always seems to know exactly what you need whenever you need it.

You can tough it out... right?

[yesimwriting]

Normalcy

A/n deadpool and wolverine drabble bc the movie was a little too good

Summary: Still reeling from the loss of your powers, you struggle to hold it together inside the TVA's void. Thankfully, you find an uncharacteristically peaceful distraction in your old friend Deadpool and in the wolverine variant who wants nothing to do with you.

Warnings/info: reader is a (former) avenger (bc i love the avengers <3), reader is described as having similar powers to wanda and having trained with her (bc i love wanda), implied beginning of an accidental love triangle if you squint ig, maybe too much lore for a drabble (?), me writing for characters for the first time so be nice 😭

----

The lines etched into your palms do not bend and twist to spell out secrets, there are no messages worth decoding pressed into your skin. Knowing this is not enough to stop you from staring at your hands like if you could just think about it hard enough...

"There you are, Peanut." The words are so warm you're briefly pulled out of your internal angst. You straighten, head lifting slightly and arms crossing in front of your chest. "Thought I lost you."

Wade continues forward until he's directly in front of you. He pauses, watching you with an unabashed openness that you'd only ever allow him to get away with. "Kidding," he tries, "I'd never lose you."

The familiarity of the casual affection eases you further, the corner of your mouth tugging itself upwards. "I was like 15 feet away from you."

"Sorry for caring." It's his go to comeback when it comes to defending the displays of affection you have the audacity to find overdramatic.

You blink, lips parting despite your lack of response. The world has felt a little slower these last few days, moving at a pace that leaves you with no choice but to reflect. Maybe it's the void.

"Hey," his voice feels a little flatter without his usual humor, "Are you okay?"

You let out a breath, shocked by this new low. Sure, you've known Wade for awhile and you've both seen each other through plenty of stages, but he's never felt the need to attempt a genuine pep talk for you. He's never struck you as the pep talk sort...for anyone. Do you really seem that off?

It's bad enough that your identity crisis has stolen the abilities that would have helped your trio pop out of the void with no real fanfare, you can't also make your insecurities everyone else's problem. "Yeah." The response doesn't feel convincing, but with Wade wearing the Deadpool mask, it's hard to be sure. "Just y'know...we're in a void and our reality might be ripped apart, so I've been better."

He's still watching you with a level of focus that's unnerving. You've gotten used to his familiarity, his lack of care for personal space or the social rules around watching people. "You're doing it again."

"Seducing you with my ability to have a heart to heart while looking this good in my suit?"

You sigh in an attempt to dismiss your slight smile. Happy or sad, superhero that once fought Thanos or regular person that can't regulate their emotions, Wade always treats you the same. "The staring thing. You said you'd stop."

"No, you said I'd stop." The correction is a return to what you're used to. He takes a step towards you, his proximity now forcing you to tilt your chin up slightly to look him in the eye. "I'd never promise to look at you less."

"Comforting."

He angles his chin downwards, making the limited distance feel more significant. "I thought so." For a moment, he's quiet in a way that doesn't feel very him. "Are you sure you're...good?" His hesitance is another reminder that this is far out of his element. "I know this is your first..." Wade's rarely careful, only ever treading lightly on the one subject you never want to bring. "Outing, since..."

"I lost my powers."

Wade goes quiet again. If this conversation is as inevitable as it seems, a part of you wishes it could have come up elsewhere. Maybe in your shared apartment, definitely without the mask so you could better interpret his reactions. It's not often you keep secrets from him, but the hollowness you feel knowing the part of yourself you've lost isn't something you can just share.

It's more than just about missing your party tricks, it's about losing a part of yourself. They were all that was left of your time with the Avengers, of what Wanda taught you before Westview.

He lets out a breath. "They're not lost." You raise your eyebrows slightly, giving him a look meant to caution him against sympathetic optimism. "We don't know that."

He seems so happy to be able to tell you that there's no proof that any and all magical abilities have been flushed out of your system, you don't have it in you to remind him that that's mainly because you have no one to ask. What's left of the Avengers and your government connections either barely understand what you were or are untrustworthy.

"Educated wish?"

His mask muffles a slight gasp. You press your lips together in an attempt to resist smiling. "The last one worked out great."

Your eyebrows pull together skeptically, a reminder that the two of you are still technically in the middle of the last educated wish he attempted to speak into existence. "Didn't Wolverine stab you multiple times--"

He cuts you off with a heavy sigh. "If I took getting stabbed personally, do you know where we'd be?"

In a reality where Wade holds grudges over those kinds of things, you wouldn't be anything to each other, except maybe enemies. You've never pulled a knife or sword or anything sharp on him, but when you first met he did startle you before you had a total grip on your abilities, which resulted in him getting thrown through a wall.

"I never stabbed you."

His hand finds your shoulder. You let him drag his thumb against against the fabric of your suit. "And that's how I know you really love me, Peanut."

You roll your eyes in an attempt to dislodge the warmth that settles in the pit of your stomach. The last thing Wade needs is encouragement. "I mean, I do go around stabbing everyone I like less than you."

He lets out a sound that feels like a scoff attempting to mask itself as a dry laugh. "There's the sense of humor that'd hurt me if I knew you less."

"Well--"

He squeezes your shoulder, "I know you." Okay. You'll let him have this one because maybe there's some truth to what he's saying. "I'm going to go check on the car, because a fucking Honda Odyssey would break down on us for no reason before we got to the fight."

"For no reason or because of the bitch fight you and Wolverine had in it?"

There's a beat of silence in which all you can do is try to imagine Wade's expression behind the mask. You'd like to think that he's smiling. "Oh, Pumpkin." He sighs as if you've stumbled onto saying something terribly naive. "It wasn't a bitch fight, it was awesome, and probably turned you on."

You deadpan a flat, "You caught me." He hasn't let go of your shoulder, and a part of you is oddly glad for it. "I'd offer you help with the car, but..."

You're self aware enough to acknowledge your strengths and weaknesses, car maintenance being the latter. Wade doesn't even let you get your oil changed by yourself anymore.

"I've met you." He squeezes your shoulder again, the gesture weirdly stabilizing. "Give me 15 minutes to actually look at the car and then I'm all yours."

Wade lets go of you, his arm falling to his side. "Aren't you always?"

He lets out an exaggerated gasp. "You're making me feel cheaper than my usual rate, Peanut."

You smile as he turns away. Things are always a little easier with Wade. It's more than just distraction, it's his way of making things feel a little lighter. You're not sure what to do with your 15 minutes of solitude to avoid falling back into self pity.

You originally broke away from the group of void trapped heroes under the premise of needing fresh air, but even here, with the expansive, sparsely wooded area at your disposal, the oxygen in your lungs still feels flat. If Wanda were around, you'd be able to ask if she felt the strangeness of this other plane of existence as well. At least then you'd know if your dislike of the void is only mental or an actual sign of life from your abilities.

You begin to walk forward, hoping to shed all thoughts of both your former self and the eeriness of this other world. There are other people you could talk to you. The others have been polite enough, or at the very least, passionate enough to be talked into facing Cassandra.

The trees you've been wandering through grow in their sparsity, the edge of the woods revealing a patch of grassland highlighted by a fire's warm glow. You squint past the tree line, attempting to make out the figure sitting in front of the flames. Wolverine.

Secluded from the group and staring at a campfire. Surprising. Though, you guess it's not fair to judge him too harshly, you left the group to brood as well.

He doesn't like you, doesn't know you well enough to dislike you, but it took him no time to find a way to get around that. Maybe it's your proximity to Wade. You've done your best to take his hostility as un-personally as possible. You've seen enough people you really care about go through the guilt ridden, fallen hero thing to know how deep that kind of hurt runs.

You've never known a Wolverine or Logan Howlett variant, so you have no way of knowing what he was like before. Sure, you've heard stories, but you're also overly aware of how the media can twist and turn those stories to fit their narrative. One day, a superhero is the world's greatest protector, and the next their the greatest menace. Maybe he was always a little dark, or maybe he wasn't.

"Don't just stand there." The gruffness of his voice startles you more than it should.

Heat crawls up your neck, a part of you more embarrassed than you should be. You weren't lurking, or at the very least, you weren't trying to.

You sigh as you abandon the safety of the tree line. "Sorry." He turns his head away from the fire. "I wasn't--I was just walking."

He's quiet for such a long moment you almost expect him to not respond at all. "Without your shadow?"

Wow, only a halfhearted dig at Wade. You must have caught him in a good mood. "Friend, and he's looking at the car. I'd be looking at the car with him, but I figured the odds for tomorrow are bad enough as is."

Another uneasy stretch of silence. "Yeah." There's not much, if anything, to take from the comment. "If you're here to convince me to go with you guys tomorrow--"

"I'm not." It's an honest answer. You had been walking around aimlessly and happened to stumble onto him. "I'm not into the pep talk thing." He scoffs, the sound lacking in genuine aggression. "What?"

He lifts his gaze from the fire, his eyes settling on some point past the horizon. "I thought you were an Avenger."

You're not sure what bugs you more, the fact that he's so sure he has you all figured out or the implication that the Avengers spend their days encouraging each other instead of actually doing things. What the Avengers are--or maybe were--is so much more than that.

You step forward, further separating you from the cluster of trees. "The Avengers are about a lot more than that."

His attention briefly shifts onto you before returning to the flames. If the silence is meant to be dismissive, it doesn't feel that way. There's a patience there that doesn't suit his usual brooding.

"Do you care if I sit?" The question is forced out before you can overthink it. "I promise no inspirational speeches or small talk."

After a beat, he dips his chin downwards in a nod so subtle you would have missed it if you had been watching him any less carefully. You're more relieved by his acceptance than you should be, your feet carrying you towards the campfire.

You sit at a polite distance, knees bent in front of you. His silence seems to push against the void's sluggishness. Maybe the issue has been you fighting this world's momentum.

"Why are you with him?" You're not sure if you're more shocked by the question or the break in silence. When all you can do is blink, he continues, "You seem--" He subtly clears his throat, as if struggling to admit this next part, "Nice, normal."

Oh. If you had been focused, you likely would have got what he meant without the clarification. "I know Wade's a lot--especially to you." You place a hand against your knee, thinking about that very specific safety you only feel with Wade. You don't have to try at being anything, or worry about earning your keep in any capacity. "But once you get to know him, he's a good friend."

You look away from the fire pit in time to see the skeptical look Logan throws in your direction. "I'm serious." His expression doesn't change. "He um--after I stopped being important to everyone else, he still liked me ." This isn't the conversation you wanted to stumble onto, especially not with someone who you barely know and actively dislikes you. "That sounds kind of dumb, but the point is, he's loyal."

He turns his head back towards the fire. "You always call him by his name." The observation is so stiff you'd consider it hesitant if it came from anyone else.

You've never thought much about Wade's name. Part of it is familiarity, and the rest of it is a force of habit. Even when you were with the Avengers, you preferred using actual names when off duty. It's easier to separate the mask from the person beneath it when you make an active effort to.

You shrug. "I'm not into off duty superhero names, Wolverine."

He falls silent again. You concentrate on the flames, the way they illuminate the world around you. "You can--" He cuts himself off, attention never wavering from the fire. "You can call me Logan, if you want."

An unsteady warmth roots itself in your chest. You didn't expect any sort of kinship between you and the wolverine Wade stole from some other timeline beyond him occasionally accepting your attempts at creating peace between him and Wade.

"Okay," you focus on keeping your tone measured, avoiding any emotions that might startle him, "Logan."

There's no tension in the quiet that follows. You let the minutes pass until you're certain that Wade's waiting for an interruption disguised as an attempt to help. "I should go, Wade's probably waiting for me."

You push yourself to stand. You let yourself glance at him one last time before turning towards the trees you emerged from.

[scoopstrooptm]

     okay so i know that i keep talking about an post-apocalypse verse and haven't done anything yet, but i am actively thinking about it, and i think my plan is to set it up as more of a jumping off point than an actual fleshed out au. we don't know the plot points of s5 yet ( and let's be honest, my scoops kids are not going to be central to how the duffers bring the plot to its climax, that will be will, max & el i assume ), but we do see hawkins being thrown into a Situation in the final scenes of s4, and we can make some assumptions of what will happen next if we take from classic apocalyptic tropes: • there's already a military presence in hawkins when the cali crew arrive, that will only grow and assumedly hawkins will be sealed off in an attempt to keep the influx of monsters/vecna from spreading out of the town boundary, along with evacuation efforts • there will be looting, panic, even more people fleeing or attempting to flee if the government seal off the town and set up military checkpoints • also presumably the military will be Doing Things and bearing arms against whatever is coming through from the upside down, but this will be ineffective because they are not a) el and b) our group of loveable teenagers lmao • we see the dust particles from the upside down leaking through and decaying the wildlife in those final seconds, so we can probably expect the continued decay of natural resources ( upside down lovers lake does not have water, the trees in the wood do not have leaves ) • plenty of monsters & monster hunting/fighting. @ the duffers how big is your cgi budget

so the plan is to set up the verse from that point of view and then that allows for the freedom of a canon compliant verse, once we get more info about how s5 intends to pan out, and the aus where myself and others get to write it better and do fun things within the apocalyptic setting :')

[kedreeva]

Okay so, I don't think I've spoken of the saga here yet but! Gather round. I shall tell you a long story about the bird I just acquired and why she is VERY IMPORTANT.

At the beginning of last fall, I started looking into quail genetics a little more, because I got tired of not being able to sex my Celadon quail by their feathers. Originally I thought I could kill 2 birds (ok maybe more) with 1 stone and order nice jumbo wild type (which MANY places advertised as wild type jumbo) hatching eggs, and this would help me put some size on the Celadons (jumbo) while also making them feather sexable (wild type). Perfect!

But then I come to find out that pretty much all jumbo lines are jumbo BROWNS, as in they all have the sex linked brown (SLB) gene. So, I was a little confused and a LOT annoyed because I wanted to work specifically with the wild type color/pattern. No mutations just straight, plain wild type.

And EVERYWHERE I looked - major production hatcheries, private breeders through websites, Facebook groups, local swaps, craigslist, e v e r y w h e r e -

People ONLY had SLB.

This spring I came across a video showing about the differences between SLB and wild type and I figured if the person who made it can tell, maybe she will have some. So I looked her up (not in a stalker way, her farm name was stamped on the video and took me to the website), and what luck! She was in Michigan! Upper Michigan, so still a hike, but not California, y'know?

So I shot her an email and explained that I was looking for WT and that her site said she bred them and that people could do local pickup. She responded yeah she's totally got a bunch! And I said great, I'm also in Michigan, albeit far away, but I don't mind driving 7+ hours each way, because I really need actual, trusted WT for sure birds for my celadon project, can I come pick them up?

Cue the most frankly bizarre email chain in my short life. As soon as I mentioned that I was going to drive, or perhaps that I had a genetics plan in place, she got super sketchy and started saying how she hadn't really paid as close attention to SLB vs. WT, that it mattered less than she thought it would when she started, that I shouldn't focus on that either, and also that "fawn celadon is practically unheard of" in the hobby and "you should focus on a clean Tibetan because it's hard to find without roux in it) implying that I should concentrate on those things instead. And concluded by telling me if I really want WT, to contact this other person (why happens to be someone I can't stand). It all sounded VERY much like she didn't have wild type males, after all, and had thought I didn't know the difference so it wouldn't actually matter. But, it does. It actually matters a lot to me.

So I messaged back to say, well, I don't want to do any of those things, I specifically want to work with this set of genetics and you said you have them so I shouldn't have to go to anyone else??

And then she went radio silent for a week. I kind of figured I'd called a bluff, and that she was one of dozens of people I'd contacted who'd said they had WT only to find out they had SLB. I get that it's difficult to see the difference, but this particular person was the president of the American Coturnix Breeders Association or whatever (found out it's actually just a club formed by her and her friends a year ago, so not as impressive as it sounds, considering they don't actually DO anything- no putting on shows, no newsletters, no certifications, no public breeder directory, no finished SOP, nada), so I kind of expected she should know what she's talking about, if anyone does.

Eventually, after a week, she responded that she had been judging at a county fair, but she had a few heterozygous males (WT het roux, which is fine) and she could set a hatch for me for more if I wanted to come at the end of the month, but she's in WI now, not MI. I said sure, since where she was in WI was actually closer than where she'd been in the UP, and we arranged date/time.

The day of, my neighbor friend, Jude, comes with me for company/keeping me awake through the 15 hours driving round trip. It's a pleasant enough drive. We arrived at a cutesy little house on the edge of town that looks like anyone's house in a neighborhood, with a spacious lawn. The person meets us and takes me around the side of the house to a 6x6x1.5 or so chicken tractor, where she's got some male coturnix. She pulls the available males for me to look through and... fam, they ALL looked SLB, to me.

Now, she swore to me up and down that they couldn't be anything except WT het for roux, because of the way she is breeding them. But I've put these birds next to my SLB males and if I didn't have my males banded, I would not ever have told the difference between them. I still picked up 4 of them, because I will give it a go- worst case, I can produce plain Roux hens/plain Roux males for use in breeding later, best case they do actually produce WT hens and they just LOOK SLB and I have to figure out what the differences are. I don't want to leave without seeing her hens, which she has told me are all WT (which is why the males HAVE to be het for it), and she takes me back. Now the hens, the hens are easy to see the difference. White bellies first of all, but the chest feathers are also wildly different! The shafts are white, the dot around the shaft is dark, ringed in red, ringed in white. On an SLB, the shafts aren't white, it's just a black dot surrounded in a red feather, and the belly is all red/buff/cream, not white.

This is what an SLB hen looks like:

So I take a nice long look to memorize the color, and thank her for showing me and meeting, and we head back home.

I do fecals when I get home because all of the males are VERY thin, no meat on them at all, and since she said she'd been feeding Purina (garbage for fowl feeds), I figured that was why, but no- HUGE coccidia loads in all of them. So I treated them and got them on a better feed. They immediately began putting on meat, and they're find now.

The rest of this summer, I have spent going to local bird swaps and inspecting all of the quail I could find, hoping to find one (1) actual wild-type phenotype bird. Hundreds and hundreds of birds, I have pawed through them all, being super obnoxious to the owners I'm sure, holding and inspecting males. I found ONE suspected WT male (and this is a HUGE "suspected," he could very well be SLB with low red expression). I compared him when I got home and I'm doubting myself still, so I don't know if I will ever actually pair him with the SLB hens or if I'll just wait til I have a roux set.

Regardless, it's been a dry season for getting what I want. It's been a dry YEAR. Yesterday was another swap and more hundreds of quail and me pawing through all of them.

Until.

My eyes landed upon.... her.

If you've only lived in an area that has american crows and not ravens, you find yourself wondering if crows are ravens. You see a big crow and you think wow! maybe that is a raven! It could be a crow, but it's seems bigger so maybe it's a raven. But, if you take a trip to a place with ravens, and you see one for the first time, you realize that there is no question, when you see a raven. When you see a raven in person, there's no question and not only is there no question, you wonder how you could ever have thought a crow was a raven. It's laughable, while looking at the raven.

That's how finding this bird felt. I'd been picking up every SLB hen and going maybe this is actually WT? It could be SLB but maybe it's WT? But the second I laid eyes on her in the middle of a pack of SLB with some mixed colors, I knew I was looking at WT hen, and I can't imagine how I ever thought maybe an SLB hen was WT.

Here's a better photo of her chest and belly (she's beat UP from her previous home, the back of her head and most of her rump are plucked clean from males). You can see the white shafts and the white belly.

And some other pics of her, showing the grey-brown on her side and back- VERY different than the SLB hens

I can't express how stoked I am about this bird. This is the first time after a LOT of effort and time, that I have felt confident I am holding the bird I want.

She's also the indicator that I have a LOT of work ahead of me.

My end goal is to have birds that look like her, weigh 12-14oz, and lay large, blue eggs. I have birds that lay large, blue eggs, I have birds that weigh 12-14oz live weigh, and now I have at least 1 bird that looks like her, which means I can make more that look like her. The first step is cleaning the color mutations out of the celadon line without losing the celadon eggs. This is going to be a bit of a nightmare, BUT, I have a friend helping me out with getting a few celadons that are either WT or SLB (I'm guessing SLB all things considered) to start the work with. I will work over the winter to get a few more actual WT birds here, and to start crossing out the celadons with the SLB jumbos to clean out the other feather color mutations. Once I'm down to just SLB and celadon for mutations, I can clean the SLB out with the WT and roux lines.

This project will likely take me a good 2 years, maybe 3, to complete and then test breed to ensure I haven't lost the celadon gene and I don't have any hidden recessives lingering about. But just having the fucking materials to do it all on hand now is a huge step forward from where I was when I decided to start the project.

[eternal-evergreens]

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧JJK Men as Yanderes ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧

Post Format: Headcanons

Featuring: Gender-Neutral Reader, Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro, Ryomen Sukuna, Mahito, Choso Kamo

Word count: Each piece is roughly 750 words

Warnings: implied sabotage (Gojo, Toji, Choso), invasion of privacy (Gojo), kidnapping (Gojo, Sukuna), murder (Geto), kidnapping mention (Nanami, Toji), suicidal ideation (Nanami), light gore (Gojo, Sukuna, Mahito), reader injury (Sukuna), threats of bodily harm/mutilation (Mahito), sexual assault (Mahito), implied murder (Choso)

Satoru Gojo

You're nothing special. Not compared to him, at least. With no long line of sorcery or blue blood running through your veins, your family is just about as average as it gets.

You're nothing special---not to Jujutsu society, anyway. But who gives a shit about that? To Satoru, you're more than special.

You're everything.

He's always been the strongest, and yet, when he's with you, he just feels so weak.

Like a schoolgirl fawning over her latest crush, Satoru often finds himself checking his phone while away on missions, hoping to see your name appear on his screen. It doesn't have to be anything special—even a picture of some ugly animal with the caption "That's u, lol." is enough to get him going. Just knowing you were thinking of him at all, even in an unflattering light, makes him feel lightheaded in a way not even battle can emulate.

It's weird. It's embarrassing.

But he can't get enough.

Satoru wants you more than he's ever wanted anything, and he wants you to feel the same way. He'd do anything if it meant winning your heart.

If you asked him to kneel, he'd kneel. If you asked him to beg, he'd beg. If you asked him to rip out a man's heart and present it to you, he'd ask if he should do so on a silver or gold platter.

If you asked him to let you go, however...

You sigh and fall back onto the couch. It'd been a week since your landlord mysteriously kicked you out, and Satoru took you in with a frankly suspicious eagerness. To say that he was an overbearing roommate was to put it lightly.

He'd follow you around the flat from room to room, enter your bedroom without knocking, and once, you even caught him sifting through your laundry. He wasn't even embarrassed about getting caught, let alone the fact that he had done it in the first place.

You decided to start searching for a new roommate after that.

"Y'know," Satoru says, slinging his arms around your shoulders---you hadn't even heard him approach. You quickly close your computer, which happens to have very clearly been showcasing cheap apartments in the area. "I could have just taken ya'. Snatched you up off the street like some kidnapper."

"What...?"

"---But I decided to play nice instead. I thought we could forge a real relationship that way. But you've just been pushing me away. I'm starting to think I've been too lenient with ya'. Like maybe I should have just locked you up instead."

"That isn't funny, Satoru."

"Who said I was joking?" You open your mouth to respond, but Satoru cuts you off before you get the chance. "You want dinner? I can order us takeout. Anywhere you'd like."

Drop it, his eyes say. You do.

That very night, you pack a bag and head to the nearest hotel. In the morning, you'll ask your job if they can transfer you to another city. For tonight, you'd like to just get a good night's rest without the lingering fear of waking up to his figure looming over you.

You wake up to familiar surroundings. It doesn't register as strange until you remember checking into a hotel the night prior. You shoot up to get a better look around. Sure enough, you're in your own bedroom, not the hotel's.

But how...?

You're sure you left last night. Did you dream it? You go to check your phone, but it's not there.

Just then, the door opens. "Oh, you're up," your roommate says.

"Satoru, what's---"

"I called you in sick for work today," he says casually, "and tomorrow. Actually, starting today, you're unemployed."

"What?!"

"Don't worry. I can take care of us. I've got more than enough money."

Satoru wants you more than he's ever wanted anything, and he wants you to feel the same way. He'd do anything if it meant winning your heart.

If you asked him to kneel...If you asked him to beg...

If you asked him to let you go, however...

"C'mon, baby, you know I can't do that," he'd say, arms around your waist and head in your lap. "Ask me for something else, anything. Just not that. Do you want a pony? We can get a pony."

"No---"

"What about a cat? Or maybe you prefer dogs? I could get a purebred if you wanted one. I know it gets lonely being in the house all by yourself."

"I want to go outside, Satoru."

"We could get a fish tank, I guess. Though I doubt they'd make good company."

"Listen to me---"

"Actually, maybe that's for the best. Wouldn't want to compete for my lover's attention in my very own home, you know?"

Suguru Geto

When he was at his lowest, Suguru thought of you. It kept him going. It kept him sane.

So, of course, you were the first person he asked to join him in the creation of the new world. His world.

"Our world," he said, the look on his face desperate, pleading.

You declined, of course. His ideals went against everything you stood for as a Jujutsu sorcerer. As a person.

He took it well---or seemed to, at least. He flashed you a plastered-on smile and released your hands from his, leaving you with no further fuss.

For a while, that seemed to be the end of it.

Life went on. Though you would occasionally catch wind of his nefarious deeds, dealing with such things never fell within your purview. In fact, it almost seemed as if the higher-ups were purposefully keeping you from any cases that involved him.

You had all but forgotten about that fateful evening when a call from the higher-ups had you booking a flight to Okayama.

Apparently, there had been a sudden influx of cursed spirits in the region. And as the lead researcher in cursed phenomena, you were called to the scene.

You had already been given a file outlining the happenings, but out of courtesy, Yumi, the assistant supervisor assigned to the case alongside you, filled you in regardless.

"It's not that there's a higher rate of cursed spirits being born in this area," she said. "They're migrating here."

"Hmm," you look over the map on your tablet again; colour-coded dots mark the locations and grades of each (presumed) non-native sighting. The spacings are far from natural. They seem to have been made with intent, almost as if forming a pattern of some kind.

"We've set up a barrier to track the arrival of new cursed spirits. Nearly every curse from fourth to semi-first grade in the neighbouring towns has been coming here. Some of our windows have even spotted them moving together in groups."

"Was there anything strange about their behaviour? Like moving in single-file lines, with strange movements, or perhaps even speaking?" Yumi lights up.

"Yes, actually! They were all---"

Your screen flashes, suddenly restarting the tablet without your input.

"Huh...?"

"[Last]-San..." Your supervisor almost whispers. You tear your eyes from your screen to hers as she weakly holds up her tablet to you.

Over four hundred cursed spirits have been spotted crossing the Okayama border within the past fifteen minutes.

Your tablet finishes restarting, and you scramble to view the map again, hoping what you just saw was nothing more than a glitch.

The loading screen seems to take ages to complete, but when it does, the map shows exactly what you feared.

Oh. You get it now.

The pattern it was trying to spell out. It's "愛"

---"Love".

You hear a scream.

"Ah, it's good to see you again. How long has it been now?" A voice---one you're all too familiar with---says. "Two, no, maybe three years?" Suguru is wiping blood off of his hands. You don't want to look down. You can't look down.

Yumi is dead.

You looked down.

"I'm not sure why I phrased that like a question I didn't know the answer to," he says, smiling in a way that makes your heart ache. "I've been keeping track down to the days, you see."

"Were you...behind this?" You've never been one for combat. You can't use reverse cursed technique to save Yumi. You can't fight to save the others. There's nothing you can do.

You've never felt so helpless.

"I did," he admits casually. "I recently got my hands on a new curse. First-grade 'Pied Piper', its technique creates a sort of call-and-response between itself and other curses of a lower grade through a musical frequency only other curses can perceive. With that technique, I can manipulate the movements of curses I haven't yet acquired without leaving my residuals behind."

"But if it's coming from the technique of a curse you possess, your residuals would still be left behind," you counter.

"Ah, as quick on the uptake as always, [First]," he praises. "You're right, or you would be if this curse were under the control of my curse spirit manipulation. No, this curse was tamed, not subjugated."

"Why are you telling me this?"

He's going to kill you once he's finished explaining.

"I've always appreciated an inquisitive mind," he says. "especially when it's your inquisitive mind." Your mouth forms a vague 'O' shape as the realisation dawns on you.

"愛"

"Love"

...You're never getting away.

Kento Nanami

Nanami is someone who has never really been all that content with life.

Sorcery sucks. Corporate sucks. Japan sucks.

Sometimes, on his darkest days, Nanami thinks about what would have happened if he had joined Haibara—or better yet, if he had never even been born in the first place. If the world is this awful, wouldn't it be better to have never experienced it at all?

But then he met you, and suddenly, the world didn't seem all that bad.

Don't get him wrong, it's not like your presence suddenly made all the wrongs in the world right, but it did make him feel like they all mattered just a little bit less. Like maybe all this suffering was worth it, if it also meant he could see you smile.

So, of course, he'd do anything to keep you safe. To protect that smile.

The easiest way to ensure that, of course, would be to clip your wings. To lock you away somewhere where only he could reach you. A songbird that only sings for him, a dove in a birdcage.

He'd treat you like royalty, of course. His job pays well, but he's a somewhat frugal person by nature, so he has plenty of savings lying around. Whatever you wanted, he'd get you.

As long as you stayed safe, he couldn't ask for anything more. Even if you didn't love him, as long as your smile could be protected, that would be enough.

He's in the middle of researching what kind of restraints would cause the least damage and irritation to your skin when he realises what a grave mistake he was about to make.

'If the world is this awful, wouldn't it be better to have never experienced it at all?'

What if...

What if you started feeling that way, too?

What if, in trying to protect your smile, he ends up being the one to take it away?

He could offer you all the material things in the world, but if it comes at the price of your freedom, it might still not make you happy. After all, it was the same for him.

If money didn't make him happy, why would you be different?

Sorcery sucks. Corporate sucks. Japan sucks.

Nanami is worse.

He doesn't deserve you. It's with this thought in mind that he begins to avoid you. He refuses to meet your gaze, leaves the room when you enter, and declines all missions that involve your presence.

He feels like he's going crazy. Separation has made him sloppy and reckless. He comes home with more injuries, and a part of him thinks he deserves it.

Bags begin to form under his eyes as two weeks go by without the haven of your presence. He sees you everywhere now. The girl across the street is dressed in a substyle you like. The model in that magazine has your eyes. The cafe down the block is having a special on your coffee order.

"Nanamin, why're you avoiding [Last] all of a sudden? They do something to you?" Nanami scoffs at the remark but doesn't answer. He turns to leave but stops when Gojo continues. "Y'know, they actually came cryin' to me about it. Said they had no idea why you suddenly started treatin' 'em like they've got the plague." Nanami turns to look at Gojo, who's fiddling with his blindfold. "You should make up with them soon. Can't leave our cute little assistant supervisor feeling so down, you know?"

Nanami hates to admit it, but Gojo might be right.

'What if, in trying to protect your smile, he ends up being the one to take it away?'

Fuck. He can't do anything right.

He really doesn't deserve you, but what can he do? If he leaves, you won't smile anymore, but if he stays, you'll be smiling at a monster.

But what can he do? He'd do anything to protect that smile.

Even if it means hiding his fangs.

Toji Fushiguro

Toji is a man who takes what he wants and doesn't care if he has to get his hands dirty in order to take it.

Naturally, this applies to you as well.

It's strange, he's never wanted someone as badly as he wants you. Not his past flings, not even his late wife.

Toji is no stranger to romance. He was married, after all. He knows love. It's a familiar feeling.

That's why he's inclined to believe that what he feels for you isn't love. No, what he feels for you is far too primal to be love. It's rough and all-consuming. It's nothing like the soothing feeling he had around his wife.

Love wraps around one's heart like a warm blanket. This wraps around his heart like a python.

But if it's not love, what is it?

Actually, scratch that. It doesn't matter.

Whatever it is, it's some form of desire. And if he desires something, then all he has to do is take it.

Yes, it's better to keep these kinds of things simple rather than getting tied up in technicalities.

There is a problem, however. He'd like nothing more than to just lock you up and keep you for himself, but with his somewhat unstable income and his habit of bouncing around from place to place, that isn't exactly feasible.

Ah, what to do...?

He could settle down or stop spending his money as soon as he earns it, but where's the fun in that?

No, rather than try to adapt to your lifestyle, he'd much rather force you to adapt to his. Still, he supposes some sacrifices will be necessary, as his lifestyle is currently only fit for one.

You'll have to quit your job since you'll be moving around from place to place alongside him, but he'll just take on some more jobs to cover the extra cost; it's no big deal.

He proposes the idea to you so matter-of-factly that it's almost as if he believes you to have already agreed to the plan beforehand. In reality, this is your first time hearing of such a thing, and you're so stunned that you momentarily lose your voice.

You've known this man for two, no, maybe three weeks, and yet he's asking you to drop everything and come overseas with him? You're not even friends! He's just a regular at the cafe you're employed with.

It dawns on you that he must be joking, so you chuckle awkwardly and avert your gaze. Perhaps you simply haven't known him long enough to gauge his sense of humour. You feel a little embarrassed for nearly having taken him so seriously.

Then, he shows you the plane tickets.

Bewildered, you end up being more blunt than you perhaps meant to: "I'm not going," you say, pushing his tickets back to him.

"Sweetheart," he says dryly. "I'm not asking." You shoot him a strained, confused smile, which quickly morphs into a more genuine one as the door chimes.

To think you'd ever be happy to serve a customer. It's a foreign sentiment, but if it means an end to this strange interaction, you'd happily serve a hundred---no, maybe even a thousand customers.

You take their order and get to making their drink, shooting quick glances at the man---Toji, you think---from behind the bar.

He hasn't taken his eyes off of you.

It's days like this that you wish the company wasn't so stingy about hiring more than one person for shifts. You're about to clock out, and if that man is going to stay until closing, you'd really like to have a coworker walk you back to your car.

It's twenty minutes until closing when Toji finally leaves. You let out an unconscious sigh of relief, feeling your shoulders relax. That was weird, but you shouldn't have to see him again, right? He's going overseas tomorrow, after all.

Yeah, you won't see him again. Thank goodness.

It's with that thought in mind that you flip the "We're open!" sign to its side and lock the doors. It's only 6 PM, but the fall season means it's already dark. You shiver from a cool breeze as you make your way towards your car at last.

Huh. Flat tire.

Ryomen Sukuna

Those who know of Sukuna will inevitably feel sorry for anyone who happens to catch his gaze. Sorcerer or not, none will ever possess even a fraction of the strength he carries, and for someone like Sukuna, that means you're no better than a bug to be trampled on.

What a poor, pitiful thing you are. You must be treated more like a pet than a person. A plaything for him to toy with, to discard once you've ceased to entertain.

However, this interpretation couldn't be more wrong.

What others fail to realise is that Sukuna would never waste his time on someone he doesn't consider his equal. Weak as you may be, there's something about you that seems different in his eyes.

Like a precious gem left unpolished, there's a certain allure to you that only a trained eye could see, and he'll be damned if he lets anyone else stake a claim on you first.

No, he'll be the one to bring out your true potential.

Sukuna has never met someone worthy of being his companion. This has never bothered him, however. Loneliness was not something he was familiar with. There are those who have tried, of course, to prove their worth, to stand by his side, but none have ever moved him.

None until you, that is.

The funny thing is that you don't even try to win his attention. You never once asked for his gaze to land upon you. And yet, he can't bring himself to look away.

Sukuna doesn't know what to do with you. You make him feel things he's never felt before.

Is this weakness? Is it love?

Is there a difference between the two at all?

Should he kill you? Should he keep you?

What can he do to make these feelings go away? What can he do to ensure they never go away?

In exchange for not pillaging your homeland, the townspeople offer you up as a sacrifice. It was Uraume's idea.

At midnight, you're dragged out of the comfort of your home and tied to a stake, where you stay for hours. By dawn, you've worn yourself out with struggle, dried blood sticking to your hands and the ropes around your wrists, when a white-haired stranger comes to collect you.

The stranger undoes your bindings, but only the ones keeping you bound to the pole. You're dragged along like a dog on a leash for countless hours until you eventually arrive at the largest estate you've ever seen in your life. It's midday when you're untied and allowed to bathe. The warm water releases all the tension from your aching muscles, and as you bathe, the white-haired fellow replaces the garments you arrived in with robes made of fine silk.

The stranger's name is Uraume, they tell you. They'll be taking care of you until their master is ready to meet with you.

"What happens after that?" you ask tentatively.

Uruame flashes you a smile that refuses to answer.

Before you know it, a full week has passed you by. You're still yet to see this so-called master, but Uraume tells you not to worry. After all, the master has already seen you lots of times, they say.

The thought of being watched in secret sends a shiver down your spine.

Though the prison is large, you're confined to only one wing of the estate, and after a week of having nothing to do but wander, you have the entire layout memorized. Bored and unattended, you decide to venture out into the unknown past the garden's gates. There, you come face-to-face with the largest man you've ever laid eyes upon.

A hulking figure with four arms and fiery pink hair turns to you, and in an instant, you fall to the ground, only vaguely aware of the blood pooling around you and the pain across your chest.

In truth, Sukuna had tried to kill you, but his technique missed your vitals. It takes him a moment of watching your blood ooze out of the open wound to realize he did it on purpose. Before he even realizes it, he's picked you up in his lower arms and applied reverse cursed technique to your injury. You've lost consciousness, and your pulse is weak, but you aren't dead. Relief floods through Sukuna's veins as he listens to your soft breathing.

From that day on, you're never to leave his side unless absolutely necessary. From that day on, Sukuna has someone worthy of standing by his side, not as a servant, nor a pet, but as a companion. From that day on, Sukuna has a lover.

Whether you like it or not.

Mahito

As a curse born from the hatred and fear humans feel towards their own kind, Mahito relishes humanity's anguish and despair. He kills without a second thought, not caring who he hurts or who gets swept up into his path of mass destruction.

So why is it that this particular human sways him so? Why is it that he thinks your soul looks pretty, just the way it is? Why does he want to touch you but not to warp you beyond repair?

Why does he want you to look at him? Why does he want to scoop your eyes out of your sockets so that you can never look away?

To be a curse is to always follow your own desires, no matter how contradictory or inconsistent---that's the motto that Mahito lives by.

So, of course, this philosophy applies to you as well.

It doesn't make sense, and he doesn't understand it. But that doesn't matter to him. Why would it? He's a curse, and curses take what they want. What he wants is you, so, of course, he has to take you, too.

Mahito doesn't spend long watching you before he makes his move. First, he has to check if you can even see curses to begin with. If you can, that'll make things easier. But if you can't...well, that'll be fun too.

He bumps into you at the train station around 2 AM. It was a late night at work, and you're now dead on your feet. There's no one around, so it's the perfect time for him to test you. He taps your shoulder with a smile.

If you don't react, he starts feeling you up, talking aloud about how much he wants you as his hands roam your body.

"Mm, you're so weak," he says, palm on your stomach. "Look at you, all unguarded. If I wanted to, I could take your soul and just—" he squeezes the flesh on your abdomen. "—until you go splat! Hmm, but I don't really want to do that. I wonder why?" His hand trails down to your hips, brushing past—but not quite landing on—your private areas.

"It's weird, isn't it? You can't even see me. You don't even know I exist. But I know you exist." He grabs your hand, interlocking your fingers together. "Humans usually wear rings when they're married, right? I wonder why you don't have one? You're such a catch," he giggles. "Ah, well, I guess it's better for me. Less work, y'know?Though, I would have liked to see the look on your face, coming home to dear, sweet hubby, all mangled up in your living room. I wouldn't even bother transfiguring him. No, I'd want you to see his face clearly, all contorted in pain with his guts splayed out all over the floor."

He follows you home. You still can't see him, but you at least seem a little aware of his presence, with the way you keep glancing over your shoulder, randomly picking up the pace and taking more turns than necessary.

How fascinating! You can't see him, and yet you can sense him? He's swooning already.

"Don't worry, [First]," he says, arms around your shoulders as you fumble with your keys. "You'll be able to see me soon. And after that, you're never getting rid of me."

If you do react, however, he holds himself back, opting to strike up a lighthearted conversation with you instead.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing here all alone?" He asks. "Don't you know the subway is dangerous at night?" You visibly bristle, clearly on guard. He grins.

"Do you need something?" You ask, clutching your bag to your chest and stepping back. His grin widens, easily closing the distance you've just created.

"You're lonely, aren't you? All you do is work; you don't even have any friends! It's kind of pathetic, really. That's okay, though, I like you anyway. I might be the only one."

"What do you---"

"I could help you, you know. Ease your loneliness, maybe?" He's touching you now. Nothing outright inappropriate, but you could smell his intentions from a mile away.

"No thanks," you say. The train stops, and you hurry off the platform. Fortunately, the stranger doesn't get off with you. He waves at you as the doors close, and you run all the way home.

Finally feeling safe, you don't bother to do anything more than kick off your shoes before collapsing on your bed. It creaks under your weight, then creaks again. You freeze, your eyes shooting open.

"Heya," the stranger says. "Fancy seeing you again."

Choso Kamo

If you were to describe him in one word, 'inexperienced' may be your best bet.

Though it's true that he has 'lived' for over one hundred and fifty years, he spent most of that time as a cursed womb, unable to truly experience the outside world for himself. Even after being incarnated and absorbing the memories of his host, Choso finds himself unable to relate to any of his body's experiences. He knows what love is and what lovers do, but only from a technical standpoint. To actually experience it is something he's never even dreamed of doing.

So, of course, when he starts feeling these things for you, he's unable to properly put a label on them. At first, he thinks he's sick, which isn't unreasonable, considering his rather long list of symptoms (fever, shakes, sweats, heart palpitations, and clouded mind, he notes dutifully).

However, that idea is quickly shut down. Being a cursed womb death painting, it's highly unlikely that he even can get sick; plus, his symptoms only seem to surface when you're around (or when he's thinking of you, which, admittedly, is often).

Did you curse him? No, you don't have a technique like that.

Then, what...?

It takes him a somewhat embarrassingly long time for him to realise the truth behind his feelings. It isn't until after he catches himself staring at your lips and thinking about how soft they'd feel against his that he concludes he likes you.

So, he's figured it out. Now what...?

Choso searches through his host's memories in an attempt to figure out how to woo you. Unfortunately for him, his host was a frat boy with commitment issues who knew more about one-night stands than how to build the foundations for an actual relationship.

So, Choso consults Yuki Tsukimo, who he, with his very limited circle of friends, considers to be an expert.

As expected, Yuki is ecstatic at the news that Choso has found his type. Immediately, she's giving an impromptu lecture on the ways of the heart.

"First, you have to figure out their type," she says, wagging a finger. "If it's a match, you're all good. If not, you either need to give up or double down."

Through Yuki's mentoring, Choso learned the general rules for signalling romantic interest. Flowers, chocolates, walks in the park, walks on the beach—a lot of walking in general, actually—candlelit dinner, pick-up lines—he's got it all memorized.

The problem is that his throat gets dry, and his knees lock up when he so much as thinks about talking to you.

So he takes to following you with his eyes instead.

"It's just until I gather the courage to talk to them," he tells himself. "I'll stop once I figure out their type."

Right, if he can't ask you about your interests, he'll just have to observe them instead.

So, he watches you. All the time. Eventually, he all but forgets about his previous plan of it being a temporary habit.

It's just so...addicting. Watching you go about your day like normal. Completely unaware of his presence in the shadows. 

He learns about your hobbies, your interests, what kind of shows you like, your favourite foods, whether you still keep stuffed animals in your room, and more. He has a mental folder of all your likes and dislikes. And while there are some things he’s not able to learn, some places he’s not able to follow, it’s enough. Just knowing this much is perfect. 

He doesn't do anything. He doesn't plan to, either. He’s content with just watching. It's comfortable like this. He doesn't want anything to change. So, he forgets about stopping, and instead sinks even deeper into his newfound obsession.

If he had it his way, things would stay like this forever. Him, never confessing, and you, never knowing. But, unfortunately, fate had other plans in mind.

It was 10:15 AM, and you were at a local coffee shop by yourself when the barista handed you their number with your receipt. You shyly accepted, and just a day later, the two of you had plans for a date the next week.

Unfortunately, your 'date' canceled last minute and blocked you with no explanation.

It's a good thing, then, that your good friend Choso just so happened to bump into you, lending you his shoulder to cry on.

Well, there's no reason to waste a good dinner reservation, right?

You never do go back to that cafe, but if you did, you'd find the barista missing from the register.

[cherubfae]

dunmeshi + crushing on a strong beast-like reader!

ft. laios, marcille, chilchuck, namari, mickbell, & kabru

tags: sfw, bit of blood/gore, alcohol consumption, gender neutral/ implied afab reader (use of they/them), reader wraps their chest!, reader is implied to be a canine-like beast but left ambiguous (wolf, fox, coyote, etc) lovedrunk and flustered babies, pre-established relationship, reader can be interpreted as a beast-man, magically altered being, were-beast, etc!!, they can turn into an actual beast

a/n: I flustered myself writing this lmao, clearly i do not have favorites whaaaa-- haha! it's good to be back. I hope all of you are well and you enjoy this fic!! kabru's got unintentionally longggg <3 -- noah

Laios

Holy crow!! You are so, so, amazing!! This man will watch in awe as you easily strike down your enemy with a single downstroke of your blade. It glides through the monster like butter, a gust of wind from the blow kicking up dirt and debris.

You scoff, nose twitching in disgust as you shake off the bits of blood and gore that cling to the sharp steel. Your eyes drift upwards, ears perking up at Laios's interest. Eyebrow lifting into your hairline in question.

"O-oh, ah, good job!" Laios sputters, a rosy hue coating his cheeks. Lips tilting into a slight smirk you nod in response. You give him a thumbs up, winking your eye playfully at the blonde.

"Happy to help! By the way, why're you all red?"

Laios gulped, "Ju-just kind of warm in here, y'know? M'okay." He tugs at the collar beneath his chest armor for effect, his golden gaze looking anywhere but down at you and your pretty smile. He absolutely doesn't want to fixate how the points of your fangs jut out ever so slightly from beneath your upper lip, and how much he would very much like to touch them.

Marcille

She's no better than a man, she's no better than a man, she's no better than a man--

Marcille, despite the shame that digs deep into her gut, cannot tear her eyes away from you as you wash away the soot and ash covering your arms. Your shirt had been torn by the blast of one her explosive spells, leaving your arms and a bit of your bare torso exposed.

Tracing the path your veins map out, Marcille swallows thickly. Your arms were defined with muscle, not too bulky. You had clearly worked hard to get where you are. A much more experienced and capable dungeon explorer.

"You alright, Marcy?" Your voice floats to her ears, making them twitch. Suddenly bursting into a panic, Marcille blubbers out a screech.

Floundering, she squeaks, "Ah! Yes!! I'm so sorry-- your shirt!! I can fix it!" She grasps her staff, crowding herself in front of you. You wave her off gently, patting her shoulder.

You grin, fangs poking out. "Nah, s'alright. Got another one in my pack." You turn your back to her, peeling off the remains of your shirt, adjusting the wraps around your chest and back before kneeling down to rummage in your rucksack for a new tunic. Marcille damn near passes out.

Chilchuck

Normally he hates being shoved out of the way and pushed around like he's some kid, but with the absolute onslaught you bring during fighting, he's glad to have you looking out for him!

You are so many things: strong, swift, quick on your feet, and can be incredibly brutal when you need to be. You aren't just a threat to an enemy you face, you are a promise. You see to it that any foe will not harm your party.

Chilchuck himself isn't immune to the way you seem to get a bit more feral when he is threatened."He-ey!! What are you--!" He can't stop the way his heart leaps into his throat. His surprised gasp cut short when you scoop him up into your arms, dodging a long bow arrow barreling towards him.

With ears ringing at the deep, low snarl rumbling in the back of your throat, Chil blinks owlishly. He follows your gaze to see living armor being taken down by Izutsumi. Sighing in relief, the halfling relaxes in your embrace. He is incredibly lucky to have you looking out for him! Glancing up at you, his face explodes into a red glow upon seeing your tender gaze already transfixed on him.

Yeah, you might end up being the death of him.

Namari

A person after her own heart!! She revels in the rush of adrenaline that courses through her veins when she takes down an enemy, but you're even a step further than her!

Not only are you strong but you are an amazing asset to the team! You're incredibly versatile with weapons: axes, swords, lances, daggers, bows-- you name it! But what's really killer about you are your claws and teeth! How you can turn into an actual beast when angered enough, determined to fight for those you love. Namari has never met someone quite as unique as yourself. She just wished you weren't in Laios's party, but in hers.

You are immaculate, Namari thinks. She can't help but stare at you from across the bar, watching with an immense yearning as you laugh heartily with Laios and Marcille throwing your pints of ale up in a toast.

"Why don't you go talk to them? O-oh shit, here they come!" Chilchuck slurs from behind his own pint, cheeks flushed pink from the alcohol. Namari sighs, too buried in her own thoughts to register her friend's words. Setting down her cup fingers sliding along the lip of the glass. She clumsily reaches over for the pitcher, gasping as it nearly tumbles off the edge of the table. You catch it with ease, smiling with that same kind smile she loved.

Pulling up a stool, you settle down besides the two on the opposite end. Smiling, you refill your friend's drinks before filling up your own tumbler once more. Chilchuck downs his drink in one go, hiccupping softly. Folding his arms in front of him, he rests his head atop them for a quick snooze.

Snickering, your gaze turns to Namari, who suddenly feels like she's sobering up at a rapid pace. You're absolutely beautiful in the orange glow and warmth of the tavern. Drowning out the sound of the drunkards, she can barely focus on the words you're saying, her eyes going cross-eyed as she tries to read your lips.

"Let's get you home, Namari. I think you need some sleep." You gently muse, standing from your stool. Waving over your shoulder at Laios, you help Namari up, leaning her against your body. Marcille lifts Chilchuck up onto her back like a rucksack, despite his protests he ultimately relented. (They totally bickered like a teen daughter and her middle-aged father about wanting to stay five more minutes)

The night air was cool against your flushed skin. Namari shudders, tucking her chin and nose beneath the wool collar of her shirt, pressing herself closer to you and your warmth. Her hand slides carefully into yours, wobbly smiling when you lightly squeeze her hand. Even in her drunken stupor, she can't fight the awe of how easily you sway her stubborn heart.

Mickbell

If Kuro isn't the first to rush to Mickbell's aid, it's you instead. The more you help rescue him, the more he will start to rely on you, so don't you slack off!!

Mick gets an absolute kick out of watching you blast any sort of enemy away with your strength and he'd never admit out loud how much he enjoys the view, especially if you're defending him.<3 it makes him feel all giddy when you swoop in and save him.

Today was no different than before. A morgue of ghosts swarm the immediate area, dropping the temperature down a few levels. Accompanying the specters, is a lone basilisk. It's dual heads watching Mickbell like a lion on a hunt. Warm puffs of breath cling to the air as Kabru readies his sword, Holm making his way to the opposite end of the basilisk, a jar of holy water in his hands.

The basilisk lets out an ungodly shriek and surges forward. Knocking Mickbell back, you press your body over his, effectively becoming a shield over him. You're snarling, teeth exposed with intent to bite. Mick curls his hands against your tunic, eyes squeezing tight and prepares for impact.

"Now Holm!" Kabru slices downwards as Holm slices upwards, decapitating both heads. Mumuring a silent spell, Holm swirls the jar of holy water around like a lasso, shooing away the ghosts.

Gently prying Mick's hands from your shirt, you place a warm palm to his chilled cheek. His downcast green eyes open immediately, and he throws himself into your embrace, winding his arms around your neck. "Gaaah!! That was so scary!!" Over your shoulder, you miss how Mickbell gives Kuro a cheeky grin and a thumbs up.

Kabru

He has met all sorts of travelers and merchants and dungeon experts. While Laios is one that perplexes him, Kabru's curiosity in you reaches a certain level of fondness he isn't quite equipped to deal with. He knows he will be able to rely on you in the heat of battle at any given time. Your strength is plentiful, but even you have your limits.

"Does it still hurt?" Kabru softly asked. He sits beside you on the stone floor, shuddering at the slight chill that seeps in through his clothing. You lift your gaze to him, blinking slow. Kabru notes how your pupils dilate ever so slightly when you face him, something he feels hopeful for. You return your attention to the wound on your leg neatly wrapped in bandages-- a direwolf bite.

Giving a noncommittal shrug, you finish your handiwork, setting the bloodied old bandages ablaze. "I've had worse. If the wolf had broken my bones, that'd be another story. I don't want Rinsha wasting her mana on me. I can keep up just fine, I won't slow us down."

Kabru takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger softly, forcing you to look at him. "I didn't ask if you could keep up, I asked if it still hurt. You got hurt because you saved me from that direwolf, I've failed you." There's a tenderness in his azure stare.

"It hurts a bit," you whisper, unable to glance away. "You never fail me, Kabru." You smile. Kabru looses a small breath.

"I won't let that happen again. You have my word." For a moment, the world stills and the two of you find yourself leaning in. You can feel his warm breath on your lips, hyperaware of his large palm sliding down your arm to rest on your waist. Your hands slid to the front of his tunic, curling your knuckles into the fabric. He gasps softly when you tug him to you, lips almost touching when--

"HEY KABRU!" The shrill voice of Mickbell jerks the two of you apart. You gasp sharply as your leg knocks into the adjacent stone wall. Kabru is instantly at your side fretting over you.

Mickbell stares you two down from the doorway at opposite end of the room, mouth drawn into a confused expression. "Uhh, hey. Just wanted to know what's for dinner. You two good? Why do you look so red?" He shrugs his shoulders half a second later, deciding he really didn't care to know the answer. Wiggling himself between the two of you, Mickbell sighs and folds his arms back behind his head with closed eyes; completely oblivious to the shared flustered looks you and Kabru are sending one another.

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